


every sinner has a future

by sabinelagrande



Series: two flints [1]
Category: Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Business Deals, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22705963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Greg is only barely above small-time. His luck changes.
Relationships: Greg Davies/Alex Horne
Series: two flints [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639948
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65





	every sinner has a future

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god what have I done
> 
> This probably is going to be the start of a series, because I have plotted far too much of this AU. Any historical inaccuracies are because, man, I just can't be arsed; this is a story I wrote for free for the internet. Every piece of historical fiction is about keeping the parts that are interesting and tossing the rest, and this is no exception.
> 
> Also very, very much of this is the fault of dizmo, because we mutually got way too invested in it.

Greg is making it, as these things go. He's starting to do well for himself, with a few close associates, not quite enough to brag about, but enough to not get jumped when it would be otherwise advantageous.

Part of that is because he's a mountain of a man. It takes more than one person to bring him down. He knows this from experience.

So it's the afternoon, and he's with Rhod and Roisin at the pub where they hang around, which is becoming gradually more a headquarters by degrees. Rhod is trying to perfect some trick with a spoon that Greg can't quite understand, while Roisin works on her third pint.

Greg sighs internally. They are not a great gang.

He looks up when the door opens, and his heart stops; next to him, Rhod drops his spoon. Both of them recognize him instantly, because how could they not. He's a brown-skinned man, dressed in a respectable-looking suit, with a smile on his face. He seems to be smiling every time Greg sees him, which he hasn't done much. He's not a big enough deal to be the kind of person this man would worry about.

"'Lo there, Nish," Roisin says, putting her hand out, and Nish enthusiastically shakes it.

"Hello, so nice to see you all," Nish says. "I've come with news." He turns to Greg. "Your presence is requested."

"By who?" Greg asks, trying to be polite.

"Sorry," Nish says, with an air of 'just doing my job, can't be helped' that somehow Greg can't blame him for.

"Well," Greg says, standing up and knocking back the rest of his gin. "If I don't come back, avenge me."

Rhod clasps his hand. "Good luck."

Greg follows Nish out of the pub, ducking to get through the door. He has no idea where he's going, but he'll be okay while he gets there. Nish is maybe the safest man in all of London; he's become a go-between among the various criminal sects. That might make him the most hated man in London instead, but he's just so damn charming that almost everyone has just adopted him, good ol' Nish who's trying to do a proper job and does it damn well.

Nish's associate is standing outside the pub, and he falls into step with them. Mark is, near as Greg can tell, completely fucking useless, though he has his own charm. Greg thinks he's maybe supposed to be Nish's bodyguard, but Mark would blow away in a high wind. It seems more like he just wants an excuse to hang out with his buddy Nish, which Greg can respect.

Greg follows Nish for quite some time; Nish is chatting to him, and Greg is trying to respond appropriately and keep track of where they are. Finally they get to a nondescript door in an area that is nicer than Greg expected. 

Nish knocks on the door hard with the heel of his hand. "Delivery!" he calls.

The door cracks open, then opens wider. Nish looks in to make sure of the occupant, then holds out a hand to invite Greg in.

"Have a good day, mate," Nish says cheerfully, and he walks away, Mark loping along beside him.

The room Greg walks into is the back room of somewhere, probably a business that opens on the other side of the street. There are various crates and suchlike; he suspects this room was hired from someone who didn't ask questions.

There are only two people in the room; there's the one who let Greg in, who nods to the second man and steps out past Greg and into the street. The one who remains is a perfectly average-looking person. He's ginger and bearded, and something about his manner suggests that Greg is supposed to think he's unassuming.

Unassuming people do not issue invitations through well-known gangland intermediaries and hire out back rooms for the simple purpose of meetings.

"Alex Horne," he says, holding out his hand. "Call me Alex."

Greg shakes it warily. "I suppose you know who I am, or you wouldn't have summoned me."

"Summoned is a little dramatic," Alex says. "But I suppose that is what I did."

"You must have something to say," Greg says. "If you're a cop-"

"Absolutely not," Alex says. "I called you here with a business proposition."

Greg's ears perk up. "Oh?"

"I've been paying attention to you," Alex says.

"Not much to pay attention to," Greg demurs.

"Exactly," Alex says, which Greg doesn't appreciate. "You have a low-level street gang. I can make you so much more than that."

"How?" Greg says warily.

"I have ideas," Alex says. "I have ambition. I have money. I have strings to pull. I don't have presence."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Greg says.

"Anyone who talks to me for ten minutes thinks they can take me," Alex says.

Greg holds his hands up. "No offense, mate, but if I wanted to hurt you-"

The next thing Greg knows, he's hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Alex is on top of him, pushing a knife into Greg's neck; it's still sheathed, just a blunt press into Greg's throat. Alex immediately lets him up, not offering any further threat, just proof that he can do it.

Greg pulls himself back up. "Turns out that's an error in judgment."

"I have things to put in motion, and they could set you, and me, and all your friends up in a very comfortable situation," Alex says. "But I can't just swagger into places and be taken seriously. I can't swagger at all."

"You're going to have to give me something to work with," Greg says. "You brought me all the way here. I'll take it you've got something to you if you got Nish to work for you, but is that all?"

Alex looks like he anticipated the question. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out an envelope. Greg looks at the wax seal on it in confusion; this symbol has been getting around, with stories attached, but nobody's yet seen anything of the owner. "You're the Taskmaster?"

"Take my offer, and _you're_ the Taskmaster," Alex says. "I can make the plans. I can't fill the boots."

"Shit," Greg says, and he sits down on one of the crates.

"Bring your crew in on it," Alex says. "The more connections you have, the better. It's going to take some building, but I'll make you a name."

"What if I say no?" Greg says, even though he knows he won't; this could be the break that he needs, that all of them need.

Alex looks at him like he doesn't understand the question. "You just saw that I could kill you."

"And what's your role in all this?" Greg says.

Alex gets kind of a funny look on his face. "I'd be your assistant."

"Excuse me?" Greg says.

"I have to hide in plain sight," Alex says. "The best position for me is someone who obviously has your protection but your disdain. No one can suspect that I'm the power behind the throne, or I'm an easy target. It has to look like you own me but don't like me, so I'm not worth taking out."

There's a pause.

"This is a sex thing, isn't it," Greg says.

"I beg your pardon," Alex says.

"Nobody says things like that," Greg says. "Someone who wasn't a pervert would say something like 'You should pretend you hate me so nobody suspects anything.' You come in here with this 'own me' nonsense."

Alex looks shifty. "Would it help if it were a sex thing?"

"I'm agnostic on it being a sex thing," Greg says, holding up a hand. "I met you ten minutes ago."

"All of that aside, I'm making you a good offer," Alex says. "Doesn't being yourself ever get a little old?"

Greg pretends to consider it a while longer, but he knows he's going to give in. "Yeah, fuck it," he says. "Let's do it."

"I need you to get a new outfit," Alex says, indicating Greg's body. "This isn't working. Tailored and black-on-black. No white and no color."

"Alright," Greg says, though he isn't even sure where he's going to get something like that.

"And you can't set up shop in a dodgy pub unless you own the dodgy pub," Alex says. "That's beneath you now."

Greg taps the envelope on his chin. "I've got an idea about that."

"Open the envelope," Alex says, and Greg does. "That's the address where we'll meet. I want to see you nightly for the first little while, until we settle things."

"I'll bet you do," Greg says, grinning.

Alex ever so faintly blushes; this is a business arrangement, but Greg is going to have fun. "You find our base of operations. I'm going to set us up. If your gang wants to talk up the Taskmaster, that's fine. I don't want you to say another word about it. Just smile enigmatically if it comes up."

"You're a bossy little thing," Greg says.

"You'll find that I'm really not," Alex says, sighing. "I'm just good at administration."

"Tomorrow, then," Greg says.

An hour later, Greg stumbles back into the pub.

"We need to talk," he says to Rhod. He looks over. "Roisin needs to sober up, then we need to talk."

"She just won another round for stacking six pint glasses," Rhod says in her defense.

"Okay, I am impressed by that," Greg says. "But we've got plans."

\--

This establishment used to have another name. It was something incongruously classy, then it was just called Sally's, but it's not that anymore.

Now, it's the Taskmaster House.

You can still go there for its original purpose. Jon will fix you a drink and you will be presented with your choice of carefully curated companionship. You can pass your whole time there without actually seeing the reason for the name. But if you pass through the curtain next to the stairs, which you'd better have a damn good reason for, the reality becomes sharper.

This room looks exactly like the rest of the common areas of the house. Its walls are still a frankly excessive shade of red, with the pattern of wallpaper that one would most expect in a place like this. There are a few people hanging around, looking threatening or cheerful depending on the mood of the day, occasionally darting out when they're needed. Sally brings the drinks herself when they're needed back here, where she is treated with the utmost respect, or else.

And on a throne, there is the Taskmaster, and on a chair next to him, there is his assistant.

And the Taskmaster can get you whatever you want, but you don't get anything without earning it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [good boys should get rewards](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27911026) by [ArtlessTanager](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtlessTanager/pseuds/ArtlessTanager)




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